


An Echo For Narcissa

by teaberryblue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaberryblue/pseuds/teaberryblue





	An Echo For Narcissa

Muggles wore the queerest clothing. Narcissa tugged at the loops in the blue jeans she had begged off her cousin Sirius, letting out a tiny, private snarl at the strange way they fit. He had laughed at the results, outright, when she had looked in the mirror, her blonde hair up in a high, bouncing ponytail, but then, she had told him he had no idea how to treat a lady and would end up miserable and alone for the rest of his life.  
  
“You’re not a lady,” Sirius pointed out cheerily.  
  
“I’m more of a lady than you’ll ever be.”  
  
Sirius had laughed at that, his voice still high and childish. “Thank Merlin for that.”  
  
He’d made a face, and told her not to worry, that her disguise would do. She’d made him swear for a fourth time not to tell her parents where she was.  
  
“I know, I know,” Sirius had assured her. “I’m supposed to say you’ve gone to lunch with Demetria Carrow.”  
  
She had kissed him on his fat baby cheeks and promised to buy him that disgusting piggish ice cream sundae that Fortescue’s made, the one with the six scoops of ice cream and the gummy pixies.  
  
Now, though, as she tugged on the ill-fitting pants that were clearly meant for a young boy and not a teenaged girl, no matter how small a teenaged girl she was, she wondered if perhaps he had led her astray-- trust Sirius to think it would be the most hilarious thing possible for her to be caught out in the middle of Muggle London. But no one seemed to be starting now as she walked up Oxford Street, stopping to peer in the shop windows.  
  
The clothes in those windows were even queerer than the jeans and floppy-collared shirt she was wearing-- there were trousers with wide, flared legs, shoes with soles that must have been at least two inches thick, and tight, short skirts that barely looked as if they would cover her thighs.  
  
She was struck for a moment with a fancy to go into one of the stores and try on one of those skirts, just to see what it would look like on. But imagine if _that_ was how her parents caught her-- in a Muggle store, in utterly scandalous clothing. She snorted, imagining the look on her father’s face, and then the long series of wails that would come from her mother, about what this family was coming to, and where had she gone wrong, and didn’t she raise her daughters right, and why was she being punished so? And then, of course, Bellatrix would smirk and prance about and flash her engagement ring in the light so that everyone would be reminded that _she_ was the good daughter.  
That thought in itself made Narcissa scowl and tear her eyes away from the lurid clothing.  
  
She took the little slip of paper from her pocket and studied the address, squinting at street signs until she found the proper one, and turned off, away from the bustle of the main shopping.  
  
The bells on the door tinkled prettily as she pushed it open, and the scent rushed into her nose from all directions. She shut her eyes and breathed in, happily.  
  
“Can I help you, Missy?” asked a creaking, old voice, from the far corner of the shop, bringing Narcissa back to reality.  
  
She opened her eyes to flowers, everywhere, lush blooms decorating every table and counter, soaring from pots and vases, brilliant in every hue Narcissa thought possible.  
  
“Flowers,” she said, gulping, as she took a step forward. She’d been safe on the street, but what if the shopkeeper could _tell_ she was different? “I’d like to buy some flowers.”  
  
The little old lady at the counter chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know if we can help you. Henry!?” she called into the back. “Girl here says she wants flowers. Have we got any flowers?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” said a balding, middle-aged man, as he popped his head out from a door behind the counter. “We’ll see what we can do.” He flashed her a cheery smile. “What kind of flowers are you looking for, dear?”  
  
Narcissa flushed, embarrassed with herself for asking such an obvious question, but she lifted her chin up. “They’re for a wedding,” she explained. “For the bride. I was thinking...white? They should be white, shouldn’t they?”  
  
“Well, white’s traditional, but you know how kids are these days,” the man said with a chuckle, as he started peering at different flora-- roses, orchids, mums, tilting his head from side to side to consider them. “How much were you thinking of spending?”  
  
 _Here goes nothing_ , Narcissa thought. She took a deep breath, bracing herself, and stepped forward, toward the man. “I don’t have any money,” she explained, forcing herself to work her jaw rather than speak through gritted teeth.  
  
She hesitated a moment, as she saw the man frown at her, but she took another step forward and unhooked the bracelet on her wrist, holding it out to him. The pearls shimmered, catching the lamplight and reflecting it in tiny rainbows. “I can give you this?” she offered.  
  
The man’s cheerful demeanor had dissipated, and he grimaced as he held out his hand for the bracelet, holding it up to the light. He looked back down at her, his brow creased sharply. “I can’t take this,” he said, his tone one of warning.  
  
She could feel the breath go out of her lungs, as if it had been stolen away by his words. She gasped a little. “Please?” she asked, as her fingers knitted together. “It’s the only thing I have. I...it’s for my sister. Please?”  
  
He looked at it again, catching the pearls up into his palm. “This is a very expensive bracelet, young lady,” he informed her, as if she didn’t already know that. “Do your parents know you’re here?”  
  
She could feel her cheeks going hot again, and she shook her head. “No,” she said. She could hear her voice straining, hear the pleading tone that she had so hoped to avoid. “Please, sir. If you can’t take it, I’ll find a way to get the money; I’ll sweep up your shop. I...I don’t want to go somewhere else, I asked a lot of people and they said this is the best flower shop in London, and my parents don’t know I’m here because they’ve _disowned_ my sister, and they’ll be mad at me too if they discover I’ve done anything like this, so just...”  
  
She pursed her lips, and looked up to him with the biggest, most pleading eyes she could muster. “ _Please_?”  
  
The man just stared at her, quiet, pensive, for a long moment.  
  
“Oh, just give her the flowers, Henry.” The old woman’s voice broke the silence. “It’s not like you can’t get more.”  
  
The man nodded, and held the bracelet back out to her. “All right,” he replied. “But I can’t take this. It’s much too valuable.”  
  
Narcissa shook her head, chin up again, proudly. “You must,” she informed him. “I simply couldn’t take something without paying. Really.”  
  
He gave her one last, cautious look, and slipped the bracelet into his pocket, and started for the flowers. “We’ll do some roses,” he agreed. “Have mum give you a little card to fill out.”  
  
Ah, so the woman was his mother, Narcissa thought. She had wondered about that. She stepped over to the counter and took the little card that said “Congratulations” in gilt lettering, and the pen the woman offered her-- it was a hard, metal pen, and she had to fiddle with it a bit to get the ink to run, not like a quill at all.  
  
 _All my love_ , she wrote on the card, and started to put it in the envelope.  
  
“You’re not going to sign it?” the woman inquired.  
  
Narcissa shook her head, not meeting the old woman’s eyes. “I can’t,” she said.  
  
“How will she know who it’s from?”  
  
She bit her lip. Surely her neat, flowery handwriting was recognizable enough? But...  
  
She turned back to the florist. “Can you mix some narcissus in with the rest?”  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Narcissus? You know those are just plain old daffodils?”  
  
She nodded. “I know.”


End file.
